


Pattern [Inktober 2019]

by california_112



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Hospitals, Inktober, Inktober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 17:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20979752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/california_112/pseuds/california_112
Summary: Another late phone call, another rendition of the usual dreaded message: Morse had been found unconscious in an alleyway, and been bought to the hospital. Luckily, he'd recovered consciousness before the ambulance had even arrived, but it was the second call like this in two weeks, and Thursday had gone past feeling superficially angry or annoyed to deeply worried- did this lad have no self-preservation instinct whatsoever?-or-Thursday gets another phone call about Morse, and the two have a talk.MENTIONS OF AND SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR TROVE, FUGUE, AND NEVERLAND.This is for Inktober 2019 - Thursday 10th, Pattern.





	Pattern [Inktober 2019]

Detective Inspector Thursday swept through the now familiar corridors of the Radcliffe Hospital, following the light taps of the nurse's heels with plodding footsteps, weighed down with worry. Another late phone call, another rendition of the usual dreaded message: Morse had been found unconscious in an alleyway, and been bought to the hospital. Luckily, he'd recovered consciousness before the ambulance had even arrived, but it was the second call like this in two weeks, and Thursday had gone past feeling superficially angry or annoyed to deeply worried- did this lad have no self-preservation instinct whatsoever? After a couple more minutes of walking deeper into the rabbit warren of corridors and waiting rooms, the passage opened out into a wide general ward, lined with beds and a handful quietly bustling nurses and doctors, finishing up evening rounds. The nurse led him to Morse's bed, checked his chart, then left the two policemen alone.

Morse was sitting up in the bed, cushioned by some pillows, looking fully alert although somewhat bored. He had been sitting like this for the past half an hour, after the doctor had finished poking the area where he had been coshed and asking him unimportant questions. When he saw Inspector Thursday, clearly redirected here from his way home, he felt a pang of guilt that he was depriving his superior officer of well-deserved family time. Thursday stood at the end of the bed for a minute, giving Morse a sad, steady stare, before taking a seat.

"You alright then?"

"No, I'm bored." Morse complained, ignoring his injury as usual. "They said that I can't have anything to read because it might exacerbate my condition. I'm not even allowed to write anything down, which is just-"

"- a wise decision." Thursday interrupted. "You were unconscious, Morse, and bought here in an ambulance. They're trying to help you get better as soon as possible."

"I was out for a maximum of five minutes, that's hardly serious." Morse countered. "The only thing wrong with me right now is the slight remnants of a headache, and this boredom. Couldn't you-"

"No. I've got to obey doctor's orders." Thursday for a minute, then turned back to his bagman with a sigh. "It's getting to be a pattern with you, isn't it? You rush out on a lead, not telling anyone, underprepared, and this happens. I'm going to have to put a watch on you if this carries on."

Morse span to look looked at him, affronted. "It's not like that-"

"It is like that!" Thursday looked earnestly at his bagman, lying forlorn under the thin sheets. "I don't like to think of the amount of times you've laid there in a hospital bed, me sat here out of my mind with worry. It's like having a third child!"

There was a sudden silence between them, and Thursday realised that maybe he'd gone a bit too far. "Sorry, it wasn't meant like that. It's just that I _worry_, and Win _worries_, and-"

"So everyone's worried about me!" Morse burst out, half-raising himself on one elbow with a wince. "I'm just doing my job!"

"If you carry on like this, you won't be able to for much longer!" Thursday replied, tone also raised, but when he noticed a couple of nurses giving him looks, he calmed his tone. "It's just- just!- a slight concussion this time, Morse, but in the past you've been stabbed, beaten up- even shot. You can't carry on like this."

"But it's getting results." Morse reasoned. "Those leads have bought- well, at least five people to justice."

"In exchange for five scars." Thursday bit back, and Morse recoiled slightly at the truth in his tone.

"At least they're only on one person."

Thursday sat back, looking at Morse in semi-disguised shock. If the boy's sense of self-worth was that low, then there was something seriously wrong. How had he not seen this before- this toxic mindset of his DC's? Or maybe he had seen it, but not recognised it for what it really was- how he'd volunteered for that ransom drop as a 'single man' instead of Jakes…he'd scaled rooves two storeys up to confront a murderer…running into the bottomless stacks of the Bodleian Library after Gull…going to Blenheim Vale when nobody else was going, just to save Thursday. This needed to be talked about.

"Morse, do you have a…reason, for running into danger at every opportunity?"

"The job needs doing." was Morse's instant reply. "If it's me that has to do it, then so be it."

There was a silence, one where words should have been. As Morse coughed self-consciously, Thursday glanced at the clock for something to do.

"Well, time's…near on ten."

"Yes, Mrs Thursday will be waiting." Morse said quickly, trying to ease the tension; it didn't quite work. "You should go home, sir. Have some dinner."

"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning, take you back to my place.” Thursday said, ignoring Morse’s attempts at conversation. “Win'll give you a decent breakfast, none of this hospital mush. Although I guess you must almost be used to it by now." Thursday looked away, carefully studying the grey wall above Morse's bedside table. "If you ever need to talk, Morse, I'm always willing to listen. So is Win, anytime." He fixed his bagman with a last encouraging look before sweeping from the ward.

The lad would heal, with time and the right support. Hopefully he'd realise what he was doing wrong, and learn to put it right- and Thursday would be there to help him every step of the way.

**Author's Note:**

> this was so rushed oh my g o d
> 
> Hope this will suffice, and sorry it's so late- I just got it in though! I wasn't sure what to do with this one, but it ended up writing itself...


End file.
